


Pot Noodles and Pettiness

by wynnyfryd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Clueless Harry Potter, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fashionable Draco Malfoy, Floo Network, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Parseltongue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wynnyfryd/pseuds/wynnyfryd
Summary: Draco’s pouting. Harry doesn’t know why or where he went, but he’s certain it’s his fault.(Featuring two drunken dummies, the best Ginny, a pet snake, and Pansy Parkinson being that bitch.)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 5
Kudos: 269





	Pot Noodles and Pettiness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plant_boi_potter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plant_boi_potter/gifts), [GallifreyisBurning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyisBurning/gifts).



> A gift fic that took me forever because I’m an adhd mess. I hope y’all enjoy it.

He was talking to that damned snake again.

Harry slouched in his favorite threadbare armchair, feet propped up and toes wiggling in the warmth of the fire, a pint in one hand and Ramen’s head propped gently in the other. The crackling logs cast a warm orange glow over the pair as they hissed happily.

Draco scowled from his spot on the staircase and regretted, for the third time that month, ever picking up the insufferable serpent from the menagerie. 

He’d been positively charmed the day he brought Ramen home - _like pot noodles? Because... It’s a muggle thing_ , Harry had said - but for the last week Harry had been ignoring Draco almost entirely, spending every spare moment with his precious pet draped around his shoulders, darting shifty glances at Draco as the two no doubt gossiped about him. Harry wasn’t one to keep secrets. Not since he’d unsuccessfully tried to surprise Draco with their new home two years ago. As if Draco hadn’t seen the newspaper on the breakfast table, the eager quill marks circling the address. 

Honestly.

“Potter,” Draco clipped, drawing himself to full height as he descended the final step, silver rings jangling against the banister. He sauntered over to the mantel, plucking a handful of Floo powder from the bowl as he pretended not to notice the stupid look on Harry’s face, the slack jaw as he drank in Draco’s outfit. 

Draco knew what he looked like. He had dressed to the nines, a sharp charcoal suit with pencil-thin trousers, his jacket open to expose the deep cowl of his cream silk blouse, the bones of his sternum on full display beneath a cluster of delicate silver chains. His hair was cropped short on the sides, loose finger waves on top falling over one perfectly arched eyebrow. He’d framed his gray eyes with the smoky chocolate shadow he knew Harry liked best, and he let an inviting smile play on his glossed lips as Harry’s gaze finally made it up to his face. 

Harry smirked, a dimple forming on one cheek. “Ah,” he said, fingers stroking the snake’s head. “Is this what we’re doing tonight, _Malfoy_?” 

Draco dropped the act. “No,” he sniffed, oxfords clicking on the cobblestone hearth. He stepped into the fireplace, threw down the powder, and spoke the name of the club as quietly as he could.

“Wha—?” He heard as the world twisted. Good. 

***

_What the hell?_

Harry stared dumbly at the place where his boyfriend had just disappeared in a roar of green flame. He’d looked delectable in that gray suit, long, graceful fingers covered in silver rings, and then he’d vanished. 

He slumped forward in his chair. “Fuck,” he said, knocking his glasses askew as he pressed his fingers against his eyes.

 _‘I... do not understand,’_ hissed Ramen. 

_‘What, English?’_ Harry quipped. He took a frustrated gulp from his pint, wiped his hand brusquely over the foam on his lip. Ramen raised her head to his eye level.

 _‘Do not be...’_ She began, neck swaying back and forth in thought, _‘...petty? Yes.’_ She decided. _‘Do not be petty at me.’_

 _‘With you,’_ Harry corrected pettily.

Ramen looked at him as crossly as a snake could.

 _‘Sorry,’_ he relented, taking another swig. He was being unfair, wound up after a week of keeping secrets, feeling as though he had managed to ruin things anyway. _‘Sorry. I don’t understand either.’_

***

“Oh, is he mad at you again?” Ginny called in lieu of greeting. Her form flickered brightly into existence in the fireplace. 

Harry rolled his eyes. “‘Lo to you, too,” he grumbled, knees tucked beneath his chin, bony arse shifting uncomfortably against the hard stones of the hearth.

“Hush, you,” she said. She was half dressed, all boy shorts and bare legs, top slipping from her freckled shoulders as she bent into view. Ginny never sat for Floo calls, only hinged at the hips briefly before flitting around the room like a snitch. She yanked a brush through her tangled hair. 

“It’s Saturday night, we don’t have plans together, nobody’s died— oh god, has somebody died?!”

“No. Merlin.” Why was everyone in his life so bloody _dramatic_? He brought his pint to his lips for strength and found it empty. 

“Right, ‘course,” she said, “so then that means your boyfriend’s in a strop, yeah?”

Harry sighed. “I— maybe? Alright, fine. Yeah, almost definitely, but I don’t know what for.”

“Doesn’t have anything to do with our dear _Dean_ , does it?”

“What? No! I was so caref—“ Harry started, eyes darting to the coat rack. “No,” he assured himself. “No way he knows.” 

Ginny’s answering hum dripped with sarcasm. Harry watched her pale, dotted knees as she stood and summoned a carafe of red wine. “Sure,” she drawled and bent back into view, hiding a smirk behind a freshly overfilled glass. “Because you’re so good at keeping secrets.”

Harry lifted his own drink to his lips, remembered for the second time that it was empty, and vanished the whole thing with a wordless growl. “Gin, I don’t need this right now. Can you just help me find him?” 

“Fine, but I _will_ be taking the piss about this later.”

“You’re worse than George.”

“Thank you!” She preened. “Now. If I had to guess, he’s at Pansy’s birthday party.”

“Fuck,” Harry said. He had a feeling he was going to become very well acquainted with the word this evening. “Is that why he’s mad at me? I forgot that bint’s birthday? Nobody even told me!”

“No, I suspect they wouldn’t have.”

“Why not? Honestly, after two years—?”

“No, not that.”

“Then what?”

“Well, Pansy probably just thought it would be fun to get you in trouble—“

“Bint,” he muttered again for good measure.

“—and Draco is clearly mad at you about something _else_ ,” she said, bending deeper to glance pointedly over Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry ignored her. “Should I go after him? I don’t know where he went.”

Ginny laughed. “And walk right into a snake’s den? I don’t think so. Besides,” she said, sipping her wine, “I suspect he’ll come to you in... how long does it usually take for him to finish off those fruity cocktails he’s so fond of?” 

She disappeared again, shimmying back into frame a moment later, wriggling skintight jeans up her legs. Harry snickered as she struggled and jumped into her trousers. “I know you’re laughing, Harry, and I don’t care— _ow_! _Damn_ it, zipper!”

Harry barked a deep belly laugh, frustration momentarily forgotten. 

“I don’t care,” she insisted. “Laugh it up.” She crouched back into view in a wide, deep squat, wiggling her eyebrows at Harry as she swayed back and forth in an effort to stretch out her jeans. Harry laughed until he ran out of breath, tears springing to his crinkled eyes and stomach spasming with silent mirth. 

Ginny grinned at him warmly. “Anyway,” she said when he calmed down, “The Weird Sisters show is starting soon, and Luna said she had to check us both for wrackspurts before—“ 

“I really don’t need your euphemisms, please—“

“—So that’s my cue. Ta, Potter.”

The flames flickered from green to orange. “ _Ta_ , Gin,” Harry said to the air, missing her already.

***

“Fucking... fuck. Fuckity fuck,” Harry sing-songed to himself as the firewhisky seared his nostrils. He was making a little game out of his irritation. _Missing boyfriend who? Busy best friends what? See, we’re having fun!_

He stretched his arms overhead, hoping the whisky would burn away the tightness in his chest. He had meant to stick to beer, but, well, he could hardly drink it from a vanished pint, now could he? He draped Ramen over his shoulders and flopped back into the armchair. 

‘ _Tense_ ,’ she hissed. _‘Are you upset?’_

Harry scrubbed at his face. ‘ _I think I’ve messed up.’_

_‘With the mean one?’_

Harry hummed. He could protest, but...

Ramen flicked her tail against the tip of his ear. _‘Be honest at him.’_

 _With_ him, Harry thought but didn’t say. It was always harder to speak in Parseltongue after a few drinks. His mouth felt too heavy for it. “S’pose,” he hiccuped in English instead. 

His eyes flicked to the coat rack for what felt like the tenth time in as many minutes. How long could Draco stay mad at him, anyway? Surely he should be home now? Harry tapped his fingers against the armrest, leg bouncing restlessly. 

Ramen blinked and flicked her tongue against his wrist. _‘Want sleep now. Give me your hand.’_

Harry presented his palm as a headrest for a snake and waited.

***

“POTTER, YOU ABSOLUTE _TWAT_ , WHERE ARE YOU?”

Harry startled from his snooze, his neck cracking terribly as he jostled himself awake. There was drool on his collar. Pansy loomed on the hearth, a sloppy drunk and sniffling Draco leaned heavily against her. 

“Draco!” Harry exclaimed, drunk limbs trying to clamber out of the arm chair. He straightened his glasses and looked at them properly. “What’s wrong, love? Are you—“ he remembered Draco was mad at him and turned to Pansy. “Is he hurt?”

“Oh, don’t you ‘love’ him, Potter,” she spat. “How dare you?”

“What?” He asked, rolling his stiff shoulders and ignoring Ramen’s protesting hisses as he stood. He lifted her from his neck and draped her somewhat gracelessly over the back of the chair. 

_‘Sss—- syrup,’_ Harry slurred. “Er, I mean,” he squeezed his eyes against the lingering effects of the firewhisky. _‘...Sorry.’_

Pansy puffed her chest, teetering in her high heels as she crowded in on him. “You have - _some_ \- _**nerve**_ ,” she said, punctuating the words with a stab of her sharp stiletto fingernail into Harry’s chest. “Who is he? Was he worth it? _Bastard_!”

“Calm—“ he started, realizing that was the worst possible thing to say to Pansy Parkinson in any condition, let alone her current state. He rubbed at the sore spot on his chest and tried again. “Who is _who_?” 

Draco still hadn’t looked at him, the soft wet sounds of his cries muffled by Pansy’s shaggy jumper. “And why have you brought him home like this? He was fine when he left!” 

“Oh, _was_ he?” She mocked, petting Draco’s hair. “So observant, Potter, no wonder you dropped out of the Aurors.” 

Pansy deposited Draco on the loveseat, where he promptly folded over the armrest like a broken hinge, croaking sounds coming from his hoarse throat. 

_Alright. Not fine, but. Less... liquid._

Pansy spun around, talons entirely too close to Harry’s chest again. “And who’s fault is it that your boyfriend got like this in the first place, hmm?” She wagged her finger with a glare. “Certainly not mine! I was just trying to enjoy my birthday party - thanks ever so for coming, by the way - when I found this poor dear sobbing into his daiquiri. I’m not the one who broke his heart by cheating on him!”

“ _Cheating_?” Harry said, his voice too loud in his own sloshing head. “What—?!” He growled a breath, took another deep one through his nose. Bent over double with his hands on his knees and took a few more, willing the firewhisky fog to clear from his muddled mind. 

_Oh_. Harry turned and crouched in front of the loveseat, placed a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Draco?” He shook him gently. “Draco, is that what you think?” 

Draco sniffled, a shudder rippling through his frail frame. “Draco, look at me, please,” Harry pleaded. He slid his fingers under Draco’s sharp jaw, coaxing his head up. Draco’s eyes stayed stubbornly closed, fresh tears leaking from under his smudged lashes. Harry flicked a thumb over the trail of wet salt on his stubbled cheek. “Sweetheart, I would _never_. How could you think so?”

“You’ve been—“ Draco began miserably, opening eyes but refusing to look up. “You’ve been ignoring me.” He threw a withering look at Ramen. “Y-you’d rather talk to a— to a _reptile_ than tell me what’s going on! And—“ he turned an accusing gaze on Harry, “and Pansy _saw_ you with Dean!” 

Harry blew out an exasperated breath, frustration and relief seeping from his lungs in equal measure. “Christ and Merlin both,” he said to the ceiling. 

Draco’s watery eyes followed Harry’s face, vulnerability creeping into his searching gaze. “Is it— is it not true?”

Harry moved his hand to Draco’s pointy knee. “ _No_ , Draco. Godric’s sake.” 

Splotchy red bloomed high on Draco’s cheeks. He looked like a chastised little boy, his nosy shiny with tears. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Harry echoed, resting his forehead on his knuckles. “And here I thought you just didn’t like the way I planned it.” 

“Planned what?”

“Figures,” Harry grumbled as he stood. “The one time I _don’t_ ruin the surprise first, you make me...” He trailed off and he walked over to the coat rack. 

Pansy stood on the stone hearth, arms crossed and hip cocked like some protective mother hen, and if Harry _accidentally_ knocked her off balance as he brushed past her, there was only the firewhisky to blame. 

He reached into the pocket of his ugliest winter cloak, the one Draco had once proclaimed he _wouldn’t touch even to smother a fire_ , and pulled out a small black cube. 

“Let the record state,” he began as Pansy squawked behind him, one high heel wedged deep between two stones. “In my original plan, we were both sober, my least favorite of your friends was elsewhere, there was a portkey to Paris involved, and your face was a lot less...” 

Harry gestured at Draco’s tear-streaked face with his free hand. Draco let out a horrified little yelp, wiped his face roughly against his expensive blazer. The light bounced off a shining trail of snot on his sleeve. Narcissa would have cried, Harry thought. _Did your governess teach you_ nothing _, little dragon?_

“Right,” Harry said. “Like I was saying, this was all a lot more romantic in my mind, but Ramen said to be honest, and I don’t want to see you upset, so...” 

He opened his curled palm. Draco’s eyes went comically wide as they snapped to the little velvet box. Harry thought he looked a bit like a lemur when he made that face; he pressed his lips into a thin, flat line and tried his best not to laugh. 

“You- you were—?” Draco sputtered, gray eyes rapidly darting between Harry’s face and his open hand. 

“Yeah. Yeah,” he repeated, sinking down onto one knee in front of Draco. “D’you want to—?” 

Draco sank to his knees, too, grabbed Harry and kissed him hard before he could finish, his silver rings digging into Harry’s cheeks. Their teeth clicked together as Harry laughed into the kiss. Draco’s cheeks twitched, caught somewhere between a smile and a sob. “ _Yes_ ,” he said against Harry’s mouth. “Gods, yes!” 

“Is that the daiquiri talking?” Harry teased. 

Draco pulled back, an embarrassed laugh bubbling up from his throat. “Circe,” he groaned and dropped his head to Harry’s chest, “I’m a fool, Harry, I’m sorry, I—“ 

Harry cut off his babbling with a firm kiss to the crown of his head. He lifted Draco’s hand, removed a plain silver ring from his third finger, and replaced it with the one inside the velvet box: an ornate band encrusted with tiny jewels, a large, glittering stone haloed in the center. 

“Euphemia’s ring,” Harry said. The band glowed a soft blue as it adjusted to Draco’s ring size. “I had Dean restore the fitting charms last week.”

“I’m such an idiot,” Draco murmured, tilting his hand to marvel at the ring. 

“My idiot,” Harry said fondly.

“Mmm.” Draco smiled. “It’s beautiful.” He kissed Harry’s chin, his cheek, both eyelids for thoroughness’ sake. 

Harry looked up at Draco’s face, reveled in the soft expression resting there. “I’m sorry for being secretive, love, only, you figured it out last time I tried to surprise you.” He gestured vaguely around their home.

Draco snorted. “Yes, well, perhaps you’ve improved your efforts _too_ much,” he said. “Is this why you’ve been talking to Ramen so much lately?” 

“Yeah, I was running different proposal ideas by her. Not that she was much help. Snakes don’t exactly daydream about their wedding day.”

“Do they marry?”

“There’s a tail twining ceremony, apparently. It’s all very perfunctory.” 

“Potter, are you trying to _seduce_ me with vocabulary?”

“Should think this would be seduction enough for one evening,” Harry grinned, lifting Draco’s hand. Draco smouldered then, swaying forward for another kiss. The kiss deepened, and Harry moaned into Draco’s mouth, pressed himself flush against his chest and leaned until Draco’s back hit the cushions of the loveseat. 

“Ahem,” Pansy fake-coughed loudly from the hearth. She had removed the shoe that was snagged in the stones and was doing her best to look haughty with one foot bare, chin held aloft so she couldn’t see the curious little snake slithering toward her. 

“Oh good,” Harry said, not moving from his impolite position. “You’re still here.”

“Yes, thank you for noticing.”

“I try not to.”

“You fucking— _ahh_!” She screeched as a forked tongue tickled her bare toes. She wobbled dangerously in her lone shoe, one hand to her startled heart and the other reaching for the mantel.

“ _Well_ ,” she said, “this has all been _so_ touching.” She threw a sharp look at Draco, who had flopped onto his back, bonelessly starfished on the plush rug. “To be clear, Draco, your boyfriend is _not_ a sniveling cheat, and you _won’t_ be needing me to shout indignantly at him anymore tonight?”

Draco let out an undignified giggle. “No, darling, your performance was _excellent_ ,” he slurred. “Thank you.” He made a show of bringing his newly adorned hand to his mouth, smacked a wet kiss into his palm, and flung it at Pansy with a charm. 

“You horrible drunk _arse_ ,” she scowled, wiping enchanted spit from her cheek.

Draco’s head lolled. “You love me.”

“Salazar knows why.”

Draco’s expression sobered as Pansy rolled her eyes and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. “Really. _Thank_ you.”

“Any time. And... congratulations, I suppose.” She made a face like the sincerity had scratched her throat on the way out. “Can I go back to my party now? There’s a _delectable_ Spanish boy I had my eye on, and so help me if he isn’t still there when I get back—“

“Yes, yes,” he said with a dismissive wave. “But, Pans?” 

She turned inside the fireplace. “Yes?”

“Be nicer to Harry, will you?” He lifted his head, gray eyes drinking in Harry, a fond, soft smile on his lips. “He’s my fiancé now.”

  
  



End file.
